


How to Fill an Empty Loft

by vampireisthenewblack



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bareback Sex, Bonding, Derek POV, Double-Knotting, Intoxication, Knotting, M/M, Marking, Mating, No 3b Spoilers, No DP, Polyamorous relationship, Polyamory, Post 3a AU, Scenting, Three-Way Mating Bond, Threesome, Triad relationship, Underage Drinking, other characters present
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 13:50:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1146739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vampireisthenewblack/pseuds/vampireisthenewblack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek returns to Beacon Hills in search of a connection. He finds it in Stiles and Isaac.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Fill an Empty Loft

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this during NaNo/November, and it's been cluttering up my writing folder since then. I said to myself, "Self," I said, "Time to clean up the place." So here you go. Three-way knotting *nods*
> 
> JSYK, I wrote this with no 3b influence at all, and even now while the season is airing in the US (where I am not btw), I remain by choice almost 100% **spoiler free**. So if, as I'm sure is the case, this fic has been epically jossed, **please don't tell me because I don't want to know**. Thanks :D
> 
> All the hearts to [venis_envy](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/venis_envy) for ~~fixing my fuckups~~ ~~defending my honour~~ ~~loving my words~~ ~~loving me~~ All The Things.

Derek is back in Beacon Hills less than half an hour before he calls Scott. It goes through to voicemail, and Derek leaves a stilted, awkward message that he wishes he could delete as soon as he hangs up.

Then he looks around himself at the empty loft. Everything he owned before Laura died he left in New York when he came after her, and when the lease was up he couldn't go back. He had new betas and a kanima that was his responsibility. He found out later that all their things had been thrown away, or gone to auction.

It wasn't like he had time to think about sending money for the rent. Not then.

At least the lease on the loft is still current. He had somewhere to go, a bed to sleep in, a kitchen so he can eat, even if there's no food in it. The fridge is empty but still kind of stinks because they unplugged it and didn't bother cleaning it before they left.

After he leaves the message on Scott's phone, he finds some baking soda in one of the top cupboards, throws a handful into the fridge and plugs it back in.

Then he goes out, to the convenience store around the corner, and he buys comfort food and beer.

It's too quiet in the loft. When he first moved in, he was with Isaac. Derek's gut twists with guilt even now, even though what he did he only did to keep Isaac safe. Then there was Cora, and Peter was always here.

It's the first time Derek's so much as thought about Peter in weeks.

There was always someone. Stiles, sometimes, who fills every available silence. Scott and his noble concern. Derek misses them, but he'd never say it out loud.

Derek opens three different kinds of chips, leaves the bags open on the table, works his way through two beers before he hears the lift.

He's immediately alert. It's clear to him that not a single soul has been in the loft since he left it, but old habits die hard, and too many times the sound of the lift heralded blood and pain.

So Derek stands behind the table, hands at his sides, fingernails aching as he controls the shift, and he watches as the door rolls back.

The first thing he sees is Stiles and Isaac. They come through the door as one, shoulder to shoulder, before it's even fully open. Teenagers spill in behind them, Scott and Allison, Lydia, Aiden and Ethan, and a kid Derek recognizes as Jackson's friend, Danny.

Derek has no idea if he's been let in on the secret yet.

"You're back," Stiles grins, grabbing a bag of chips, pulling out an enormous handful, turning and putting himself in Isaac's way as he rounds the edge of the table. Isaac just smiles down at Stiles as he brushes past and practically throws himself at Derek.

Derek can't help but sigh into the hug that conveys more than words could.

"I think he's glad you're back," Stiles says around a mouthful of Derek's chips.

Derek's glad he's back, too.

* * *

Scott and Allison are back together, apparently. Derek doesn't remember that kind of fickle romance from his teenage years. His own love life has been disaster after disaster, and the sex he had while living in New York was never more than that. He's convinced that's all it will ever have to be. He's too cursed to look for love. It'll break him, every time, so he's wiped the possibility from his mind.

Sex would be nice, he thinks. The air in the loft is thick with it now because the place is full of teenagers, and teenagers always smell like sex.

Derek was only gone a couple months. He spent it road tripping with Cora, like he and Laura did years ago after the fire. He's been on the road, never settling for more than a week, and because it was so different from real life, it was as if Derek expected time to stand still everywhere else.

It didn't.

He's not sure what he expected, to be honest. To find Scott bewildered by his new Alpha status? To find Isaac still drifting and desperate for connection? To find Stiles still pining over Lydia?

He hadn't expected the twins to still be here at all, but apparently there was more going on even while Derek was still around that he hadn't noticed.

He's wondered, lately, if he's not just particularly unobservant. Two months passed, then Cora turned to him one day and said she needed space. She was too used to being on her own.

Derek finds that difficult to understand. He's almost never been alone. He grew up with noise and people, and even when it was just him and Laura he was never by himself for long.

It wasn't just the Alpha pack or the hunters that drove Derek to build a pack once he was Alpha—it was his need for connection, for family.

So when Cora took her bag and hitched to wherever she was going, Derek felt lost.

Where else had he last felt that connection, had he last felt like he had family, but Beacon Hills.

He's not thinking about before the fire. He's thinking about Scott and Stiles and Isaac. About cooperating with Chris Argent of all people. About the way all these teenagers came to him, to his apartment, whether it was to rescue someone or just to be together while everything around them was falling to shit.

Derek had nowhere else to go.

They've turned up with bottles of Jack and a few unlabeled bottles of moonshine. The latter comes out of a bag one of the twins carried in, the Jack appears from Stiles' backpack.

Derek keeps drinking his beer.

"You're so pretentious," Stiles says. "You can't even get drunk on that. Or is it, like, special werewolf beer?" Stiles' eyes go very wide and he seems to expand, taking up more space on the couch, knees parting just a little wider, elbow slotting in underneath Isaac's arm, over Isaac's lap as he sits alongside. "We should totally do that. Werewolf beer."

"Waste of time," the twin draped over Danny says. Derek is pretty sure that one is Ethan, but their scents are so similar it's hard to tell. "This is way more efficient." He passes Derek an open bottle.

Derek sniffs at the neck. "Wolfsbane?" he says when the faint scent of it, almost covered by the smell of alcohol, hits him. "Are you crazy?"

Ethan's smile spreads into a confident grin. "Old family recipe," he says. "You've never been drunk, have you? Shit. Go on." He tips the bottle back and takes a long swallow himself.

There's a challenge there in Ethan's eyes that Derek can't resist. He tips the bottle back, just a taste at first. Whatever wolfsbane is in the mix doesn't burn his tongue, no more than the alcohol itself, so he takes a longer drink.

Warmth spreads through him, making his fingers tingle. "Whoa," he says.

Stiles bounces on the couch. "I know, right?" He leans forward, grabs the bottle from Derek and shoves it into Isaac's hands even as he pulls the branded bottle away from Danny. "Here's to werewolves with lowered inhibitions." He knocks the base of his bottle against Derek's, takes another drink, and then slides down in the couch, first blinking up at Derek from beneath long, dark lashes, before leaning into Isaac's side.

* * *

There's something going on there, Derek thinks. It's a fleeting thought, there one moment at the forefront of his mind as he watches Stiles' hand slide up Isaac's thigh, faded the next into inconsequence. They're all paired up, these teenagers, and Derek knows that what he's feeling is envy. He shoves it aside; it's pointless dwelling on what he can't have. Romance is for these kids who aren't cursed, whose every attempt at love doesn't end in someone's gruesome death.

Scott caught a break, there. It was close. He could have been Derek all over again and that was the last thing Derek wanted.

Instead, Scott seems to be happy. Allison didn't quite turn into a mass murdering psycho. Derek's happy for them.

Derek's happy.

There's a warm buzz flowing through him. It's like nothing he's felt before. Almost like the approach of a full moon, like those hours before it rises when anticipation and adrenaline grow with each passing minute. The moonshine makes him feel like that, but relaxed instead of hyper. He wonders what part of his system the wolfsbane is working on to achieve that end. "Used to smoke weed when I was your age," he says to no one in particular. "It was our only option, nothing else worked." He waves the bottle in his hand. "Who made this?"

"Back in my day," Stiles rasps, affecting a tremor as he holds a walking stick made of air. "Fifty miles in the snow, uphill, both ways." He clears his throat and grins. "Aiden and Ethan. We pinched one of Deaton's ice water tubs. Why does he even have those?"

"He makes his own moonshine," Isaac says. "Drinks it all himself. Constantly wasted. How else does he remain calm and cryptic while everyone's dying horribly around him?"

"Isaac," Scott says, his voice halfway between amused and whiny.

Stiles slides his hand up even higher on Isaac's thigh. "Funny. You're funny."

Derek wonders if they're actually together, or if this is the preliminary stage. He wonders if Isaac climbs through Stiles' bedroom window at night. He wonders if it's serious, or just convenient, considering the rest of them are paired up and Stiles and Isaac would otherwise be unattached. He wonders what they look like, when they're alone together.

Derek realizes he's staring, blinks, and passes the bottle to Scott.

Scott shakes his head. "Driving," he says. "Half an hour and I'll be fine."

"I'm not," Isaac says, snatching the bottle.

Isaac and Derek are the only werewolves still drinking. There's no way any of the humans could drive now. Stiles is heavy lidded and Derek's never seen him so relaxed. The girls look sleepy. Danny has dragged Ethan off somewhere, and Derek can hear them making out and grinding against one another.

"You two should stay," he hears himself saying as he looks up at Isaac on the couch. From the corner of his eye, he sees Stiles, head tipped back, throat exposed. His eyes are closed and his smile spreads into a grin. Isaac just nods and smiles as he tips the bottle and drinks before handing it over to Derek.

He doesn't want to be alone, he tells himself. He wants noise in the place, movement.

He also wants their combined scent in his bed, to mask the smell of dust and abandonment.

The rest of them slip away quietly. Scott hugs him before he leaves. So does Lydia.

Isaac's curled on the couch, eyes closed and dozing as he hugs the empty bottle to his chest. Stiles levers himself up, looks down at him. "God, he's beautiful, isn't he?"

Derek's always thought so. He's even more so now, with the confidence he didn't have before, without his father pressing him down, without an alpha as inept and distracted as Derek was. "Yeah," Derek says, staring at a face so peaceful in sleep that it should belong to an angel, not a mortal creature, not a werewolf.

Derek's reactions are slowed. He sees Stiles move, but he doesn't look right away, not until Stiles is already kissing him, and then he stares, wide eyed, but Stiles' lids are closed as he presses dry lips against Derek's mouth.

"Come on," Stiles says, tugging Derek by the hand toward the bed. Derek follows, because it never crosses his mind not to. It doesn't cross his mind to stop Stiles as he starts pulling at Derek's clothes, stripping him down to his boxer briefs with his lower lip caught between his teeth and his eyes, dark and liquid, glancing up from beneath long, dark lashes from time to time.

Stiles yanks back the blankets, presses Derek down into the mattress. He crawls over, presses another kiss to Derek's lips, this one damp and hot, before he scrambles backward and heads over to the couch where Isaac still lies sleeping.

Derek watches from a distance as Stiles drops to his knees, rouses Isaac with a kiss. Isaac sits up, eyes focused on Stiles, then kisses him back, and this kiss is nothing like the ones Stiles gave Derek.

Derek can see that it's hard and hot and passionate. Hands grip Stiles' head as Isaac fucks his tongue into Stiles' mouth. Derek knows he shouldn't be watching, has a vague impression that he should feel like a creeper as he watches a couple of seventeen year old boys grope at each other and tear at each others clothes.

Maybe it's the intoxication, his lack of inhibitions, but he can already feel his head starting to clear. He pulls himself up a little, so he can see more clearly.

Both boys get their shirts off. Stiles kneels between Isaac's spread thighs, Isaac's ass in his hands. They grind together slowly as they kiss, and the vast space is already thick with the scent of their arousal.

They ease back. The scent fades, just a little, and Stiles pulls away. He's the first one to come to bed, dropping his jeans just before he climbs in beside Derek, lying on his side and looking up.

Derek's eyes flick over him, at pale skin over lean muscle, then his gaze is dragged up by movement.

Isaac crosses the room, tugging at his belt, unbuttoning his fly. He discards his jeans in the middle of the floor, walks the rest of the way in just his underwear, the outline of his cock evident under the pale blue fabric.

Derek knows Isaac's big. They shared space for months, sometimes shared this bed, though Derek never touched him past chaste comfort. Derek's woken with Isaac's erection pressed against his thigh on more than one occasion. Back then he shifted away, averted his eyes as Isaac stumbled to the bathroom. This time he can't drag his eyes away from the thick length just barely contained in Isaac's briefs.

"His dick's just as pretty as the rest of him," Stiles murmurs. "God, I love it." Derek's only just noticing now how slurred Stiles' words are.

"You should sleep," Isaac says as he crawls in behind Stiles, pulls the blankets over himself, over Stiles, passes the edge to Derek to pull across. "We all should."

Derek drops his head onto the pillow. "Why are you doing this?" he asks.

Stiles' eyes are closed, but he shuffles close, pressing a palm to Derek's chest, tucking his chin into his chest, his head beneath Derek's chin. "Figured you might want some company," he whispers. "You just got back. Didn't want you to get lonely."

Derek's eyes flick up. Isaac's watching him, eyes wide and guileless. He presses a kiss to Stiles' bare shoulder and wraps his arm over Stiles, slides his fingers down Stiles' arm, laying his hand over Stiles' as it lies on Derek's chest. "I missed you," he says, and gives Derek a smile that's nothing but trust and affection.

Maybe it's the alcohol, or the wolfsbane. Maybe there's something else in the drink. It's in Derek's nature to look for a reason to mistrust, but there's no deception here.

He falls asleep quickly, feeling a kind of peace and acceptance he hasn't felt since he was a teenager and surrounded by family.

* * *

It's not morning when Derek wakes. At least, the sun isn't rising. The sky is black, the new moon seeming to suck any light from the world. Derek can see, though, and he can hear, and he can feel.

The mattress moves gently beneath him. Soft, rhythmic gasps fill the air. Beside him, Stiles lies on his back, Isaac between his thighs, rocking slowly into him.

Stiles' head is flung back, pressed into the pillow, Isaac's lips move over his throat and shoulders. The bed shivers with each slow, but deep thrust of Isaac's hips.

Derek is immediately, achingly hard. A soft moan escapes his lips before he can swallow it back.

Neither of the boys look at him, but Stiles' hand uncurls from where it's locked around Isaac's upper arm, and he reaches out, palm sliding across the sheet until his fingertips make contact with Derek's skin.

Derek doesn't even think. His head is clear now, the effects of the wolfsbane brew gone from his system, and he doesn't understand it himself. He doesn't want to think. He knows that if he does, he'll back away from this, and he doesn't want it to stop. He grabs Stiles' hand, interlocks their fingers, brings it back to his chest.

Stiles' skin is burning up. His pulse is racing. They've shifted away from Derek, either in their sleep, or so they wouldn't wake him when they started having sex. Derek doesn't like it, and he moves across the bed so he can feel the heat of them on his skin.

Leaving Stiles' hand on his chest, where the fingers press and release with each thrust, Derek puts his hand on Isaac's shoulder. He needs contact, physical contact, with both of them. They've chosen to share this with him, and he's more grateful than he can put into words. He doesn't care if they want more from him, or if he's just expected to watch, but he needs to touch, to feel the thrumming of the blood through their veins, the flush of their skin.

Isaac lifts his head, turns, dragging his lips across the dip at the base of Stiles' throat. "Closer," he whispers, pushing himself up on his hands. Then he grabs Stiles' hips, lifts him easily as he gets his knees underneath him. As they shift, Stiles' hand slides up, wraps around the back of Derek's neck and pulls him in.

Derek presses himself into Stiles' side. As Isaac fucks into him, Stiles' hip moves against Derek's cock and Derek can't suppress a moan, he can't help but push back. He wants to touch them both at once, he wants to touch them everywhere.

But he hangs back. He waits, because he still doesn't know if he's anything more than a spectator here.

Then Isaac leans over, hips still moving, and kisses him.

"Holy crap, that's hot," Stiles breathes as his heartbeat kicks up a notch.

Isaac kisses him like he's not sure Derek wants it, soft, tentative, like Stiles' kisses from the night before. But Derek doesn't want the opportunity to get away, to stop this. He pushes himself up, so Isaac doesn't have to contort himself, and he kisses Isaac back, tongue sliding into Isaac's mouth, kissing him deep and hot. He has one hand pressed to the small of Isaac's back, moving with the motion of Isaac's hips, the other he wraps around Stiles' dick, where it's hard and twitching against his stomach.

Stiles immediately arches up, pushing into Derek's fist, moaning and begging. He lets out a soft, garbled chant of "please, please, please," and Derek finds himself guiding Isaac's thrusts as he jerks Stiles off.

Isaac breaks the kiss, but he doesn't move away. "He wants you to fuck him," he whispers, his voice harsh and labored.

Derek flicks his eyes down, but there's no indication Stiles has heard. "What do you want?" he asks Isaac, because he's not going to do this if Isaac's just going along with it to please Stiles.

"Yeah," Isaac pants, his movements faltering, slowing as he leans into Derek, his lips dragging down Derek's throat. "I want it. He'll come again. Feels so good when he comes on your cock. Want you to feel it, want your scent on him, _in_ him."

Werewolves, even bitten werewolves, are naturally monogamous, and territorial about their lovers. It's almost unheard of for them to be happy to share, and so Derek can barely comprehend what Isaac's asking for. And yet, he wants it too, wants his own scent mixed with—not masking—Isaac's inside Stiles. "Yeah," he says. "Okay."

Isaac starts to pull back, starts to drag his cock out of Stiles. Stiles protests, whimpering, clawing at Isaac's hips to keep him there.

Derek, too, pushes at Isaac's back. "Come," he says. "I want you in him first."

Isaac groans and shoves back inside, hard and deep. Stiles cries out beneath him, arching up, one hand clinging to Derek's arm as he jerks Stiles off, the other pressed flat against Isaac's belly, as if he can control the thrusts.

Maybe he can. If not with strength, because Stiles will never match Isaac's power, then with trust. As if they have the kind of bond that's been built up over years, Isaac reads the subtle pressure of Stiles' touch, slowing, changing the angle of his thrusts.

Then Stiles is coming, hot spurts spilling out over Derek's fingers, writhing and shaking and scratching at Derek's arm while he vocalizes his release in harsh, strangled cries.

He goes limp afterward, head turning to the side, arms falling to the bed. Isaac becomes frenzied, hips thrusting erratically, the tension in his body winding up under Derek's hand.

"Fill him," Derek says. "I want him full of you. Want him to smell like you. Want him to taste like you."

Stiles lifts his head, opens his eyes. "I wanna smell like both of you."

"You will," Derek says.

Isaac lets out an anguished cry, stiffening beneath Derek's hand. "Oh," he gasps, and something's different. He's on the verge of orgasm, Derek can smell it, he can feel it, but there's something else happening.

"Oh my god," Stiles breathes. "Oh my god." He shifts his body, pressing his hips up. "I knew it. I told you," he says, sliding his hand up Isaac's chest, wrapping it around the back of Isaac's neck, pulling him down as he attempts to strain away. Stiles grimaces, shudders. "God, it's big."

"You're knotting," Derek gasps. It's never happened to him, it only happens when the bond is mutual and so strong as to be permanent, and he realizes that before now he thought Stiles and Isaac were together because of convenience, a relationship based on sex. But by werewolf standards, they might as well be married. "I shouldn't be here," he says, even though the thought of leaving makes his belly twist in pain.

Stiles' hand flings out, grabs Derek by the wrist. "Don't you dare go anywhere. It's only happening because you _are_ here."

Isaac hunches over, lifting Stiles' legs, wrapping them around his hips as he buries his face in Stiles' throat. His moans are deep and guttural, almost a growl as he fills Stiles' ass in a long, never ending orgasm.

Derek has to believe Stiles. Instinct wouldn't allow it to happen if Isaac was uncomfortable with Derek here.

So Derek slides down beside them, presses himself as close as he can get to both of them. He strokes Isaac's back, presses light kisses to Stiles' face. Stiles turns toward him, and the kiss is slow, wet, laced with something like desperation, but softer.

Like relief.

"Do you know what this means?" Derek whispers. "Either of you?"

Stiles grins. "Yeah. Have you met me? I'm kind of obsessive. It was bad for us, when you left. That's how we ended up together. It was like, we had this _thing_ in common, and it was you, and how wrong it felt that you were gone. I did some reading, managed to drag some stuff out of Deaton. He doesn't believe it, that it's the three of us." He suddenly turns his head, running his fingers through Isaac's hair, brushing his lips over Isaac's temple. "It's okay," Stiles whispers.

Isaac lifts his head. There's moisture on his cheeks, but not sweat. His eyes are squeezed shut, but there's a faint smile on his cheeks. He presses his lips to Stiles' mouth, then opens his eyes and looks up at Derek. He licks his lower lip.

Derek takes the cue, leaning in, capturing Isaac's mouth in a deep kiss.

"Isaac didn't believe me either," Stiles says. "He thought it was just you and me. But it's not, is it?"

Derek breaks the kiss with difficulty. "No. It doesn't happen unless..." Derek can't help thinking about the fact that Isaac is locked inside Stiles right now. "This is forever. More than love." He feels his cheeks heat up, and the flush spreads. "It doesn't happen unless it goes both ways. You two, definitely. But... If that's all it was, it wouldn't happen with me here. Only while you were alone."

"It's never happened before," Isaac says. His voice is breathy and wrecked. He's still coming inside Stiles, his orgasm long and slow. It'll last as long as the knot does.

Stiles laughs, softly, but it's strained. He must be so full, so stretched. "And we've had a lot of sex. I'm sorry you missed it."

"So am I." There's a heat spreading over Derek's skin that he can't bear. His cock is straining against the fabric of his briefs, precome soaking through them, leaving the tip of his cock cold and wet. He slips them off, so he's as naked as the other two, strokes himself a couple of times to ease the desperate need to be inside and thrust. He can't even decide which of the two boys he'd rather be in right now.

Isaac's rhythmic panting starts to slow.

"Come up here," Stiles says. "I want to suck you off."

"Wait," Isaac gasps. "I'm almost— I want him in you, Stiles. He's gotta— Fuck."

"He wants you to smell like both of us," Derek says, rubbing his cock against Stiles' hip again.

"Yeah." Stiles' heart starts to beat faster again. "Fuck, yeah. I'm gonna be so full." He writhes under Isaac. "Fuck, please."

Isaac lets out a soft sigh, and a few moments later he's pulling back, sliding out from between Stiles' thighs. The air fills with the strong scent of Isaac's come, mixed with the scent of Stiles. Isaac rolls onto his back, his cock still half-hard and wet on his thigh.

Stiles tugs at Derek, tries to pull him on top.

"Turn over," Derek says as he scrambles up to his knees. "So you're not in the same position again."

Stiles rolls, gets up on his hands and knees. Derek gets between his spread legs, drags his hand down Stiles' spine, strokes his fingers down the crack of Stiles' ass and over his loose, wet hole. His cock jerks as if trying to drag his hips forward on their own. All Derek wants to do is slide in there, though it's wet and messy with Isaac's come already, it just makes it that much better.

"Please," Stiles moans, pushing back.

Isaac shifts closer, one hand on the back of Derek's thigh, the other beneath Stiles. Derek can hear the shift of skin against skin as Isaac slowly strokes Stiles' dick.

Derek lines the head of his cock up, sinks inside so easy. There's no resistance, Stiles is slick and open, full of Isaac's come, stretched by the knot, but his body flutters around Derek's cock, a rhythmic caress.

"God, yeah," Stiles moans. He reaches out, wraps an arm around Isaac, twisting his body so they can kiss. "Fucking perfect," he gasps against Isaac's lips.

Derek fucks Stiles slow, in no hurry. He doesn't even wonder if he'll knot, he already knows it's going to happen. There's no question of it in his mind. For now he's just going to marvel at the feeling.

Nothing has ever felt so right, and yet, from the outside, he would have said it was wrong. Both these boys are underage, only seventeen, but Derek's done far worse. Turning teenagers into monsters, for a start.

"Are you gonna—?" Isaac begins.

"He will," Stiles pants. He twists his hips back, fucking himself on Derek's cock. "Don't worry, but don't make me come yet." He pushes Isaac's hand away, then reaches down to wrap his hand around Isaac's cock. Derek's eyes follow the movement. Isaac's getting hard again already. "You could just keep knotting me," Stiles says. "Both of you. Over and over again, until I'm swollen up with come, until I can't take any more."

Isaac's eyes flick up to Derek, gives him a look of disbelief. "He gets like this."

Derek can smell the desperation, the arousal, in both of them, in himself. He fucks in harder. Stiles starts to tighten up around him. He could do it, they could do it. Fuck Stiles, knot Stiles, until he is saturated in their combined scents. But Derek wants to cover Isaac in scent as well, wants to be covered in both of them. Wants the three of them to have one, mixed scent, so everyone knows. "Fuck me," he says, his eyes locked to Isaac's. "Can you come again? I need you to fuck me."

"While you're—?"

"Yes. Please." Derek tries to slow his thrusts into Stiles, wants to wait, wants Isaac in him, knotted in him, when he knots Stiles.

Stiles shoves back, hard. "Oh fuck, yeah."

"Shit." Isaac scrambles up to his knees, his cock very hard, bobbing in front of him. He fumbles in the blankets, comes up with a tube of lube they must have discarded while Derek was still asleep. He gets behind Derek, one arm wrapped around his waist, presses his forehead into the back of Derek's neck and breathes. "Oh my god."

"Please," Derek begs, slowing his thrusts completely to a stop, holding Stiles by the hips so he can't move. "I'm fucking close."

The few agonizing moments Derek has to wait before Isaac's slick fingers are inside him is too long. He knows he doesn't need much prep, even though it's been a couple of years since he's been fucked, he feels himself opening up for Isaac easily. He's never been so needy before, never needed to be fucked so badly.

Then Isaac's big cock is pushing into him, filling him up completely, and it's very close to perfect.

Isaac's already come, already knotted once tonight, and not so long ago. Derek knows it's going to be a while, he's going to need to fuck Derek hard to get there. Derek bends over Stiles' back, holds his own weight through force of will. Isaac is the only one thrusting, and he pounds hard into Derek's ass, pushing Derek forward into Stiles with each thrust. Derek feels himself getting close again, cries out as he feels it.

When the base of his cock starts to swell it's like nothing he's ever felt before. Stiles shakes beneath him, talking, begging to be filled, crying out for Derek's knot, telling them both how full he is. Derek can't speak at all. Stiles is so tight around him, around the knot. He can feel how tightly locked together they are. When he starts to come it's like a deep, drawing sensation, wiping his mind clean of anything but the pleasure and the perfection of the moment.

Isaac whimpers behind him, and Derek feels his cock swelling. Then Derek can't help himself. He moans, whimpers, cries out. He can't think, can't get past how surrounded he is with the both of them, by the scent of them and their arousal.

"Coming," Stiles gasps, and then his ass is clamping down on Derek and all Derek knows is that Stiles is coming untouched, both of his hands pressed flat against the mattress.

* * *

Stiles talks while Derek and Isaac breathe together as one. They collapsed sideways at some stage, and though Derek's thought processes are still far from cohesive, he wonders how they did it without hurting Stiles.

They come apart simultaneously, long, slow orgasms coming to an end, knots going down. Derek feels a rush of fluid as his cock slithers from Stiles' body, the same from his own. The sheets are wet beneath them, they're filthy with come and sweat. They all cling together, though, Stiles rolling to face them both, and Derek is cocooned between them, wrapped tightly in their arms.

They fall asleep like that, Stiles drifting off first, his heartbeat and breathing slow. Derek feels Isaac's lips on his shoulder, turns his head. The kiss is slow and clumsy; they're both exhausted.

"I missed you," Isaac says, as though he hadn't already said it only hours ago.

"I missed you, too," Derek says, wondering how he never knew, how none of them had ever seen it before he left.

**Author's Note:**

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